Her heart ached at the likelihood of losing him again. How would she survive a second time?
The heady fragrance of freshly brewed coffee and buttery pancakes floated into the cabin. Her stomach growled.
Oh, to marry a man who could cook like Flynn.
She shook away the foolish thought. The last thing she needed was to dream about happily ever after when this may be their last day together.
She quickly combed her fingers through her unkempt hair before climbing out of bed. As she followed the mouthwatering aroma to the galley, her stomach swam with eagerness and apprehension. Part of her couldn’t wait to see Flynn after last night—after they’d finally buried the past—but what if she’d imagined the whole thing?
Her palms warmed at the memory of his touch, tender and tingling, as if his fingerprints had left a permanent mark.Definitely not a dream. At the faintest brush of their pinkies, he’d reached for her, gripping tightly, as if she held all hope for a future together in her hand. It had to mean something, didn’t it?
She paused in the doorway, watching the man she loved flip pancakes on the small stove, humming a happy tune. Was it “Starting Over” by John Lennon? She smiled, secretly thanking Gran for passing down her love of the Beatles.
Flynn turned off the burner and swiveled to check on the steeping French press. When he spotted her in the doorway, his smile beamed even brighter, radiating all the love she felt in her heart. Was it possible they could start over?
“Good morning.” He held her gaze, and an earnest yet nervous energy crackled between them, as if neither one of them knew how to act after last night.
“Morning.” She tucked a curl behind her ear, giving her fidgety fingers an outlet for their jitters.
After Flynn’s apology, they hadn’t spoken another word. They’d simply fallen asleep holding hands, their new status quo left unspoken.
The slate had been wiped clean, but what now?
She suddenly needed to divert attention from the strange tension in the room. “Where’s Cap?”
“On deck, sunning himself. I think he’s really getting used to life aboard a sailboat. He doesn’t even mind doing his business on the patch of artificial turf, which I’ve heretofore dubbed the new poop deck.”
She smiled, stopping herself from asking how he felt being on a boat again.
Flynn plunged the French press, separating the velvety liquid from the grounds. “I’ve been thinking a lot about your sailing bookshop.”
“Floatingbookshop,” she corrected him.
“See, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I think you can go bigger. I really think you should consider literary-themed sailing charters. And I thought of the perfect idea to convince you.” He turned to face her, his amber eyes sparkling with glints of gold, the way they used to almost every day when they were younger. Back when he exuded excitement and exuberance for life. “Remember the part inThe Curious Quest of Quinley Culpepperwhere Quinley saves her ship from the ruthless pirate captain by winning him over with an elaborate tea party?” He didn’t wait for her to respond before blurting, “Wouldn’t that make the coolest excursion? You could make it a sunset sailing tour with a pirate-themed tea party.”
As he rattled off more details, Sage stood in stunned silence, certain she’d conjured the entire conversation in her mind. She had to be hallucinating.
“Sage? Did you hear anything I said?”
Sage blinked, struggling to make sense of what just transpired. “You—you readThe Curious Quest of Quinley Culpepper?” She’d hounded him about reading the story a hundred times as kids, but he’d always brushed it off as a “girly” book.
“Like a dozen times.” He grinned. “I know, I know. As a kid, I thought it was just some book about a girl looking for her father. But once I read it, I realized it’s really about the journey of finding yourself. And how the friends we make along the way help us figure it out.”
He’d actually read it, after all these years. She couldn’t believe it. Tears pricked her eyes. The thought of Flynn reading her favorite novel just to be close to her—and that he actuallyunderstoodit—touched something deep in her soul, like a love language that transcended words.
Without thinking, she spanned the distance between them and flung her arms around his neck. Their lips met with a spark of electricity she’d never felt before, urgent, fierce, and utterly sublime.
Flynn pulled her close, one hand encircling her waist while the other cradled the nape of her neck, deepening the kiss. His fingertips flexed, deliciously tangled in her curls, as if they’d ached to caress them again.
She lost herself in the moment, blissfully aware of each thrilling sensation, from the top of her head to her toes.
Oh, how she’d missed this. She’d missedhim. And right now, nothing else mattered. Not even the heartbreak that would inevitably follow.
When their lips finally parted, Flynn rested his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. “Wow,” he murmured with the sultriest rasp. “I guess you liked my idea.”
She laughed softly, savoring his scent. “I loved it. But setting aside the fact that we still haven’t found the diary, so I don’t yet have a boat to sail, I can’t exactly afford to hire a crew.”
“What about me?”
